Tag Archives: Merle Haggard

Yes, I know. You’re waiting impatiently. Sorry but I had to sleep. And then there was that 40 minutes on the toilet.

It was a rainy and sort of mild 12 celsius (53 F) in Stockton during Gomer and his Alaska Aces’ big visit to Northern California on Wednesday night, and the good news for Aces fans was a solid 6-2 win over the hometown Thunder.

But alas, it’s not good news for the 14 Habs fans in the world who love Mr. Gomez. I must break the news here and now that he had no goals, no assists, no shots, 4 penalty minutes, and was minus 1.

What can I say? He couldn’t get it done on this night, even falling short during the Aces’ three power play chances. But I’ll bet he tried hard. In Gomezian fashion.

I’m just so sorry for this bad news.

Gomer and the gang make their way south to Bakersfield, birthplace of Merle Haggard and boxer Jerry Quarry, for a clash with the Condors on Friday night (game time 6 pm), and hopefully better news is on the horizon. Is he in a slump? I hope not. He’s not used to that.

Random Notes:

I’ve been to Bakersfield and I can tell you that there’s quite a lot of oil pumps working hard in the area. Maybe Gomer, if he has a few hours to kill in the afternoon, can buy an oil well when he’s there!

We’ve learned recently that Bruins’ netminder Tim Thomas is a hard-core rightwinger, and this doesn’t mean he wants to play forward or study Maurice Richard’s or Gordie Howe’s moves down the right side.

It means he’s an ultra-conservative type who would’ve wanted to grab me and cut my long hair if he was around at that time. That’s what rednecks did, called us girls and threatened to cut our hair. Tim Thomas would have worn cardigan sweaters, kept his hair short and a mickey of rye in his pocket, and went out on Saturday nights to see if he and the boys could stomp some liberal pinko hippies in a back alley.

Thomas would have hated draft card burners and draft dodgers, and lived and breathed the lyrics from Okie From Muskogee. (no offence to Merle Haggard). In fact, he and Don Cherry would’ve hit it off, I’m sure, if they were closer in age. They could sit around and complain about all the fags and freaks and devil music, and when a waitress walks by, they could pinch her ass.

He’s the kind of guy who would swerve at hitchhikers and just miss them and laugh like crazy, think that people in foreign countries should learn English and just stay where they belong, and yes of course, he would bomb the living hell out of that God-forbidden Russia, where everyone ate their young, spoke in some alien, evil tongue, and didn’t even have the same goddamned alphabet..

C’mon Tim Thomas, loosen up. Smoke some pot. Go to a Dead concert. Heck, you can even borrow some of my Jack Kerouac books. But then again, hopefully you’ll never get another chance to say no to the White House anyway, so carry on.

Brief warning – Habs story in second half of page if you’re looking for Habs story only.

We drove 11 hours yesterday, from Bellingham, Washington to Redding, California where I sit now in the early morning typing in the dark before we get ready to bomb down to San Francisco which is three hours away. The all-day drive yesterday was simply a journey of passing trucks, listening to some blues and Dylan CDs, and going until my bum got sore.

Being an old truck driver helps. I like to drive marathon miles, although I look like I’ve come off a three-day acid trip when the car is finally parked. Last year I drove almost 15 hours from Las Vegas to near the Washington border, only stopping for gas and chocolate bars.

Not once have I ever to tried to mislead you by saying I’m normal.

Redding’s a lovely place with a fine sports bar named Bleachers which just so happens to be across the street from our hotel, so we hurried over after checking in and the place was packed with northern Californians getting together to watch the Saints-Vikings football game. I had a couple of large-sized Stella Artois’ and watched carefully as the California guys combined the fine art of football-watching and girl-picking-upping.

Clint Eastwood lives part-time in Redding, and Merle Haggard also calls it home.

I should also mention that at the front desk of our hotel, I said to the two lovely young ladies that they were a couple of the famous California Girls the Beach Boys sang about and they said they’d never thought about that before and as I was signing in one of them played the song on her computer and we all laughed and off I went to the sound of “I wish they all could be California Girlllllls.”

But I certainly haven’t forgotten that this is a Habs blog and the reason you read it, so without anymore road trip delays, I present – this.

The newest addition to my almost 70 different Habs Bee Hives (1945-1964) is the one and only Frank King.

Frank played ten games in the NHL, all with Montreal during the 1950-51 season, and scored one goal.

This is a tough Bee Hive to find and Danno gave me the heads-up on this one on eBay which I bid on and won. Thanks, Danno, I owe you several Stella Artois’. Maybe we can drink them together in Redding. Maybe Clint and Merle will join us!